


A Blessing

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [62]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Consentacles, Creature Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, F/F, Fae Hermione Granger, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Magic, Smut, Tentacles, it is what it says on the tin, very mild mindbreak, why? because why NOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Bellatrix feels drawn to bless the grounds she's taken refuge on.The creature that lives there feels drawn to reward her efforts.Voldemort is just confused.
Relationships: Alecto Carrow/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Alecto Carrow/Hermione Granger, Alecto Carrow/Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: One-Shot [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 30
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intheinkpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheinkpot/gifts).



> Written for Ink because the prompt was just too delicious to ignore. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Not-Edited, did one rewrite, hashed out major spelling errors but this isn't edited for grammar and likely never will be
> 
> Enjoy  
> or not  
> (but if you do please let me know)

Sinking deep below the water was a soothing reward after a long day -  _ and week _ \- of working. Her Lord’s plans had all been set in motion and Bellatrix hadn’t found herself half so busy since the last war had kicked off, and now she was seeking some well-deserved rest to subdue her aches and pains. 

She might not have exactly been  _ old _ in the eyes of Wizardkind, but the years of toil and Azkaban had taken their toll on her frame. She’d been dragged down to as low as she could go after finding herself free from that rock and no matter how much she tried to remind herself to fix the things that needed fixing, things still went unchecked. She  _ was _ still human, after all.

Or so Narcissa said, dutifully taking to the role of an overbearing mother and too loving sister in one fell swoop.

The woman had badgered her and badgered her until, eventually, the fight wasn’t worth the effort. Bellatrix had admitted defeat and given in, taken her Lord up on his offer of vacation time.

Begrudgingly, and with a great many assurances that she didn’t  _ really _ need it.

But by all the Gods had she needed it.

The Muggle family that lived here -  _ an old family property of the Lestranges that had been bequeathed to the Muggle government, and eventually a Muggle family, once the first war had been lost  _ \- had been pulled out and given over to the Wilde as a sacrifice within the first hour that she’d arrived. The blessing was ancient and Olde and her family had kept to those rituals with perfunctory acknowledgement as the ages wore on.

But Voldemort was the advent of the Olde and Wilde, and Bellatrix took to that task with more vigour than another might have.

In fact, their blood was still cooling upon her skin when she finally found the old pond at the back edge of the estate. Lazy curls and ribbons of red fell off and sank into the depths of the swirling water as she submerged herself and sought out some form of inner peace. The sacrifices had brought her a modicum of happiness when they’d breathed their last, calm washing over her as the sun arched off to pass beneath the horizon, hazy orange and deep red being the only light left to illuminate the wilderness.

Bellatrix dipped low into the water and came back up, her hair sticking all over her face and water rolling down her lips as she fought to pull the mass from her eyes-

Only to suddenly find her little hole more occupied than it had been a moment before.

The woman seated across from her was in repose against the far side of the pond -  _ more a hot spring that remained warm throughout the year  _ \- with a lazy smile splayed across her face and eyes dark and foreboding.

Black, really. Sclera and pupil both a pit of darkness, her skin a warm bronze that seemed to glow and pulse with some unsteady heartbeat.

Fear exploded deep within Bellatrix’s stomach and at the same moment she fought to hold herself as still as possible. Breath came short to her as her body rode the sudden adrenaline and her heart began a ceaseless pounding while she sat there and stared.

**_“You’re the one who blessed it?”_** the phantom asked her, the voice ringing out against Bellatrix’s ears and at the same moment seeming to explode from within her mind. Sharp teeth exposed themselves to the air in a vicious smile, the head of the creature before her cocking towards the side. She leaned in, Bellatrix leaned back, aggression and passion so painted on her that it may as well have been a neon Muggle sign. **_“What?”_** it questioned her further, voice a purr and so low that Bellatrix couldn’t rightly even call it a voice. **_“You’re not going to run? Most of them do. Haven’t had someone stick around in ages, and those Muggles were so very hard to tease. It’s not easy seeking worshipers when they can’t even see you.”_**

Bellatrix swallowed dryly and stuttered out, “Y-yes. I mean! Yes, I blessed it. And Goddess willing I’ll not fear you for it. I can only hope you appreciated my offering and that it was an adequate enough effort from one so lowly as myself.”

That should be everything, Bellatrix thought. The creature before her was obviously more Fae than Goddess but after who knew how long, how could one even tell? She might as well have been both, or more Goddess than anything else. Creatures invited power and the longer they lay claim to one place or another the stronger they grew, the more attached and in tune with their surroundings. Fae were no different and beyond Manticores and Sphinxes they were  _ the _ most powerful creatures. It made a twisted sort of sense that Rod’s family had made use of this location, and it made sense to Bellatrix now why she had felt such a desire to request a blessing.

Fae magic, a young Goddess wishing for some sort of interaction.

_ Fuck. _

**_“Well, then I’d say you’ve earned yourself a reward.”_ ** The creature smirked -  _ and all those deadly teeth, wicked and pointed and so  _ **_many_ ** _ of them _ \- and leaned back further, her body languid and in repose as  _ something _ wriggled against Bellatrix’s foot.

She almost screamed. Managed to hold back at the last second. Pulled back slightly, then left her foot unmoving as that  _ something _ pressed against her again. She watched the Fae and kept her ground, a losing battle for an inferior witch but she was nothing if not superior.

Bellatrix knew better than to antagonize the Fae. Whatever was in the water with them was here at the Fae’s leisure and Bellatrix knew that nothing could be done about it. She stilled herself, waited as the  _ thing _ crept along her toe, her heel, snake-like as it wrapped upwards along her ankle and rose while twisting. A second passed and then another  _ thing _ joined in with the first, this time on her other leg and just as quick as the one that had grabbed her first.

There wasn’t the sensation of scales that Bellatrix had expected. This was no fish, there was no sharpness of sandpaper or the rough bumps that signalled a snake. It climbed up around her calf with the smoothness of skin and slickness of something else, heated and not nearly so warm as the water she was in but close enough that it still felt delightful.

A massage delivered by a Fae. How in the world had she ever ended up in this place?

No matter. Bellatrix closed her eyes and tried to relax, unable to look upon the Fae’s black orbs for any longer.

_ ‘You can call me Hermione,’ _ whispered a voice inside of Bellatrix’s mind, coiled and edged with a danger that felt far more alluring than frightful.  _ ‘I’ve lived here for  _ **_ages,_ ** _ the last one to enjoy my touch must have been a Lestrange. You’re one too, but not by blood. Marriage, I think you call it? But no matter. You knew the rites and that’s just fine by me.’ _

Bellatrix gasped as the thing on her left leg pushed forwards to fit the gap between her thighs, a featherlight brush of something thick and rounded pressing hard against her. It rose up and down, followed the contours of her body as two more of those  _ things _ rose up to press against her hips. 

Bellatrix peeked an eye open, closed it just as swiftly.

Tentacles. Tentacles very much like the ones that the giant squid at Hogwarts had, and yet lacking many of its features. There were no suckers, it wasn’t the size of a tree trunk, and it was dark while being smooth as silk.

The limbs along her hips rose over bone and hollow to reach and grasp at her belly, their lengths pressing against her with all the insistence of a lover. Bellatrix might have felt scandalized were she not so adept at schooling her responses.

_ ‘Here, I’ll make it fun for you,’ _ Hermione whispered, her tone sinking down into the deepest reaches of Bellatrix’s mind.  _ ‘You and your Lord both espouse the Olde, the Wilde. You deserve some recognition for your efforts, don’t you agree?’ _

Bellatrix nodded, still wary of using her voice and willing to accept the gratitude for what it was.

Genuine, or at least Bellatrix believed it to be.

They  _ were _ busy trying to bring to heel all of the Ministry’s misguided efforts, after all. The Wizengamot had gone soft and sought to make their world more like the Muggles outside their doors, establishing nonsense about religion and  _ darkness _ and  _ morals _ that fit another culture entirely. The Light were all reactive, frightened of being discovered and frightened of a return to the burnings that had plagued their kind before the two worlds had separated.

But Voldemort had better ideas.

He fought to ensure that there was no chance of cross-contamination, to control the inflow of new blood from Muggle parents and take them away before they had a chance to leak what information they knew. Exposure was a risk that could only be managed if the Ministry held to the right mindset, and Bellatrix would be damned before giving up in their quest to wrench the Ministry back towards logic and reason.

The tentacles around her midsection rose with nimble swiftness, precisely controlling themselves until they encountered the mounds atop her chest. They pressed and writhed and pulled at the taut buds -  _ and whenever had that happened? _ \- until a fire had been sparked deep within Bellatrix’s core. The attention down below only fed that fire and soon enough she found herself grinding back against the pressure and biting at her lip. She hadn’t been entered yet, hadn’t been penetrated or played with so delicately in so many years that this came to her as a soothing balm to an ache she hadn’t known she’d had.

Another tentacle reached from the water to lay against Bellatrix’s arm, rising up until it could loop around her neck and place a tip against her lips. Her tongue darted out without any thought or reason on her part, felt the slickness and likened it to that of an animal and not magic. It wasn’t insectile, wasn’t like a squid, but it was firm and coated in something that made friction a useless worry. It tasted of spices and heat, power and  _ protection. _

Bellatrix breathed as deeply as she could, moaning when the smell of ozone burned her nose.

_ ‘Now, now. It wouldn’t exactly be proper unless I asked, would it? So, in that spirit, may I?’ _ Hermione’s question rang deep within Bellatrix’s mind but the sound was unsure, wavering. A Goddess newly made and unsure of what the expectations were.

A chink in the armour of her appearance and something that had Bellatrix’s heart aching for the Fae.

She nodded. Leaned back further into the water and felt the pressure between her legs relent to the lubricated muscle that Hermione was preparing to fuck her with.

Gasped when it became clear it was just as  _ thick _ as it was strong. By all the gods she swore up and down, bit her lip until it bled. The limb was prehensile and probing her to her deepest point, filling her with a burning stretch and  _ still _ it pressed in with ease. It rolled, coiled, flicked up and down in search of whatever it was that made Bellatrix tick. Her body moved with thought, grinding onto the burn and chest pressed up into the tentacles still probing at her coiling about her waist. The one around her throat tightened down to a comfortable uncomfortability, another one rising to stroke a line from forehead to chin. The movements were timed with the pulsation between her legs and Bellatrix felt herself fall deep into a warmed stupor the longer that it went on.

She rode that wave of pressure and heat higher and higher as Hermione’s ministrations continued, hastened only by her breathing and her heartbeat until she finally came. The burst of pleasure wasn’t centred to any particular region of her body but washed all over her in waves, toes curling and the liquid head spreading through every limb. She was lightheaded, dizzy and content as her skin began to tingle and doxies fluttered in her belly.

_ ‘What say you to another boon? Would you take it even if you did not know what it was?’ _

Bellatrix let the words wash over her as she came down from the monumentous high that she had been floating in, the lengths of Hermione’s shrouded form still exploring and touching her. A tingling sensation kicked off between her legs as something  _ cold _ emanated from the tentacle deep within her and  _ more _ moved in to stretch her.

What could she say? Yes? No? She knew it was best to leave her interaction with the Fae to as few as possible, but at the same moment she knew she needed to keep the interaction as favourable to the both of them as possible. Hermione could snuff out her life in an instant, those bands of muscle and flesh around her body were strong  _ and _ nigh unbreakable, they could snap her neck or drag her under in an instant.

The correct answer would be yes.

_ ‘Good. Glad you came to that of your own accord.’ _ Hermione purred, easily prying herself into the deepest reaches of Bellatrix’s mind.  _ ‘Now then, you will be granted this boon and henceforth be known as  _ **_mine.’_ **

Bellatrix felt the mildest amount of shock when she realized the Fae was reading her mind, felt herself fall to worry and fear for a fraction of a second. 

Then it moved, banished somewhere to the farthest reaches of her consciousness.

This felt  _ right. _

The tentacles that were wrapped around her body cinched down and locked in place, Bellatrix’s breathing filtered through a collar of living rope as the thing between her legs pressed forward yet again. It widened further and she felt the shift, the stretch and burn returning before something cold gushed from its end, all the little pain replaced with pleasure.

“What-” 

Bellatrix had meant to question what had just happened but her voice was  _ gone. _ Crushed tight within the grip that Hermione held on her throat and nothing capable of leaving except excited puffs of breath.

_ ‘It’s to make it easier on you,’ _ the voice purred inside her head, delicious and devilish all at once.  _ ‘You will hold pieces of me within yourself and in time it will be returned. You will be branded as mine, and that mark upon your arm replaced with something more befitting of your new station.’ _

Bellatrix was confused at what Hermione wanted but found herself going along with it, not giving herself even a moment to think about what exactly it was that this creature wanted. 

There was nothing she could do now anyways, best to move with the flow and see how high it could take her.

She watched with slowly moving eyes as beneath the water the tentacle that had been used to hold her left arm in place rose up to press down tightly against the Dark Mark. It pushed, moved, burned and heated the skin beneath it until she felt a familiar call come through the mark.

**_“Mine.”_ ** Hermione’s voice reverberated throughout Bellatrix’s mind, a myriad of thoughts and images flashing all around her until the suddenness of connection -  _ to Voldemort, to his desires and whims and needs _ \- was snuffed out, a final answer sent back to her from thousands of leagues away. It was quick, a simple flash of brightness against the forefront of her mind before it all submerged, subsumed beneath the connection that Hermione was fomenting.

The limb beneath her legs picked up its pace and pressed deeper into Bellatrix, well and truly past the point at which it should have been doing her harm. 

_ ‘You’re safe, I’m making this easy on you. Praise me, and know that I am treating you well.’ _

Bellatrix did as she was ordered, a pleading warble elicited from her throat and fealty pouring from her mind. The limb around her neck tightened further, contracting to the point where barely any air could pass at all. It pulled her back down, lowered her further into the water until only her nose was higher and that tentacle around her neck stretching out to probe inside her mouth.

Hermione’s many limbs held her still and for a moment she felt the one between her legs thicken where it pressed against her opening, a flood of  _ something _ passing into her body as another  _ thing _ fought to fit inside her. The swollen mass pressed further, insistent upon its entrance and belatedly it came to Bellatrix exactly what that  _ thing _ might be.

It couldn’t fit. Surely it couldn’t. She wasn’t  _ built _ for that.

But Hermione had used magic and something else much darker to leave Bellatrix receptive to it, and with a sharp  _ pop _ it passed through the tight opening, the muscle and skin flexed tight until she fell to a sparking pleasure that was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was  _ within _ her when she squirmed, bearing down on it with muscles as she felt the roundness of it settle further back, further still, entering where she knew it shouldn’t have been able to go but Hermione willing it to do so.

And then the next one met her entrance and it started all over again.

Bellatrix fell to madness. There was only the pulsation of Hermione, heavy and tight, every tentacle squeezing and releasing, massaging her as the fullness of Bellatrix’s abdomen grew tighter still. Her eyes could look forward just enough to see the rising of her midriff beneath the water, orb after orb passing deep into her core as the orgasms crashed down upon her. Whatever magic that Hermione commanded was too strong for a mortal body and Bellatrix watched with faint amusement -  _ and desire, by all the Gods was she positively burning with it _ \- as she grew to accommodate what Hermione desired her to hold.

A gasp of breath erupted from her side and Bellatrix turned to see the startled sight of her Lord upon the shoreline. He was looking between them both and keeping a respectable distance, fear and delight etched upon his reptilian face.

_ ‘Do you like that, Pet?’ _ Hermione’s laugh rang inside Bellatrix’s mind,  _ ‘It seems that this is making you more agreeable so I suppose that he can stay. We won’t be much longer.’ _

Bellatrix acknowledged Hermione’s words with the barest of nods, an almost impossible task that barely made it through the fog of pleasure in her mind. She was too far gone, too lost within them both to act on that information.

There was no stopping this.

Not that stopping it was necessary. The last orb swelled between her legs and then Hermione withdrew from her, coiling and pressing multiple limbs against Bellatrix’s swollen belly. She looked down upon herself and noted with half her mind that she looked just like Narcissa before Draco had made his entrance, and there was nothing really for her to do except stare and bask in the slowly retreating heat of her many orgasms. 

Hermione slowly pulled back the tentacles, all of them disappearing from the water and going back to wherever she had summoned them from, face filled with what Bellatrix could recognize as happiness.

_ ‘I’ll come for you when they’re ready.’ _

Bellatrix nodded to no one in particular as Hermione began fading into nothingness, disappearing from their reality and back to wherever she called home. Bellatrix turned then to her arm, a new marking in place of the one her Lord had given her, this one a beast of many limbs and eyes and teeth that seemed alarmingly sharp, and familiar.

_ ‘See you soon.’ _

When the feeling of Hermione’s presence faded completely Bellatrix knew that she had gone for good, for however long it took whatever was within her body to complete itself. Nothing much ran inside her mind, all thoughts kicked aside in favour of remembrance until an awkward cough from her right had Bellatrix scrambling to cover herself.

“Bellatrix,” her Lord spoke up, his eyes closed tightly and fingers pinching the bridge of his missing nose. “What the bloody  _ fuck.” _


	2. A Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa joins Hermione's flock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unedited, please forgive any obvious errors.

There is no place in the world that Hermione cannot visit.

It’s a lesson that Bellatrix learns quickly. Not even two nights after their little session in the pool it is impressed upon her that this creature is no mere spirit; Hermione is not locked to one location or persistence, she is able to throw herself wherever she wills due to power and experience. Whatever magic it was that had kept her trapped beneath those waters had been lifted with Bellatrix’s intrusion, her ritual carving out whatever stopper had held her captive. 

Hermione could bridge their worlds and had a strong desire to continue doing so.

Fae such as the one Bellatrix had disturbed were more akin to minor deities than anything remotely mortal, and the ones who had been fed - _ritualistically, over a period of many years and then given a_ **_reason_ **_to use their power_ \- were the strongest of the lot. However long it had been since the Muggles had taken over that property was not long enough to dull Hermione’s power and magnificence. Bellatrix was - _against her better judgement_ \- relishing in the knowledge that Hermione was here for _her._

Her Lord didn’t expect or enjoy her presence like that, but in this instance he was powerless to stop it. His commentary on the subject had amounted to a few words of resistance and then exasperated acceptance. His words and magic had relinquished Bellatrix from whatever bond she held to him, whatever claim he’d kept now dashed in the face of stronger magic. If his second in command had decided to become enthralled by a creature so powerful she could tear down his wards in an instant, then so be it. He could merely hold out hope that his subservience to Hermione’s desire for Bellatrix would grant him some form of a boon in the long run.

It _could._ Bellatrix wasn’t sure what kind but she knew it _could_ possibly happen.

Narcissa was less resigned to Bellatrix’s new position in life and was more consumed with confusion than anything else.

Bellatrix knew her sister was smart; Narcissa was bright and cunning in ways that Bellatrix could never be. She was just as vicious Bellatrix, just as willing to tear someone down if they came between her family. She usually just went about it with less bloodshed and more words.

Bellatrix could understand and admire that, to a degree.

But it appeared that Narcissa didn’t know what to do with the information that Bellatrix had provided her, and Bellatrix didn’t know how to help her accept that. Didn’t know what to say when her sister traced the new brand on her skin - _so much heavier than her Lord’s mark, it squirmed and seemed to grasp at her, reaching for something above the surface of her skin_ \- and asked her, again, just how it was that she’d managed to become the mother to a Goddess’s children.

There was no truly sufficient answer to that question though and one night, after Hermione had decided to make an appearance, she suggested that the Fae make a visit to Narcissa whenever she next could. She should _show_ her sister, _tell_ her sister, _impress upon_ her sister just exactly what had happened, what her powers and might entailed.

In retrospect, Bellatrix wondered if that was really the best decision she could have made, but Hermione had merely brightened at the suggestion and then bore down on Bellatrix with immaterial love made manifest in magic and blood. She’d skittered across Bellatrix’s skin, invaded each centimetre of her body until she was sweating and cursing, phantom hands caressing her swollen belly and jet black eyes peering down into her face, amusement and something near enough to love shining out of them.

Then Hermione had merely disappeared, and Bellatrix was left to hope that her sister would be open to receiving this new Lord.

\---

Narcissa knew that there was someone within her chambers. She’d become attuned to intrusion the moment that Lucius was sent away, locked up on a faraway island where the sun never made it to the ground. There was a presence near her now, not touching her but not leaving her alone either.

Her first thought was that it was Bellatrix again, likely here to complain about sickness or something else relating to her burgeoning motherhood. But it couldn’t have been Bellatrix. Her sister was away for the moment, off in one of her own homes and looking for some old tome or another. Draco was the next one on her list of intruders but he was currently at school and wouldn’t be returning for many months.

Which left her options somewhat limited. Unfortunately, the only other _thing_ that could fit the bill was a Death Eater who had grown too big for their britches. 

Narcissa turned with as much force as she could, pure speed allowing her to grab up her wand from the bedside table before any spell could be unleashed against her. She aimed towards where she’d felt the presence-

Only to find the air empty, dark and cold. Looming darkness. Absence. Pressure unbound by form or reason.

 **_“Hello,”_ ** the darkness spoke, iced and dripping with something much like malice, much like lust. **_“You’ve yet to take my brand. I suppose I can find the time to fix that. Would you like that, Little Witch?”_ **

Narcissa blinked and stared into that empty space, no light around her and nothing to be seen. It was as if she had been struck blind; no distance to measure from, no shadow to give form to the unseen, no sense of depth from which she could draw space.

 _“Lumos,”_ Narcissa muttered, her cast a brilliant ball of light.

Then she screamed. Couldn’t help it, not really.

The thing splayed out before her was monstrous and intense, a living blanket of coiling limbs and mouths that opened from the darkness, wicked teeth that were so sharp she could feel their cutting edge without ever even touching them. The mouths were closing and opening, disappearing and reappearing, long tongues of every shape and size reaching out to taste her. There were eyes - _far too many for her to count, eyes that looked human, animal, some she could never have imagined and as she stared they multiplied and_ ** _split_ **_and_ ** _refracted_ ** \- and the impression of _heat,_ of _chill,_ of something wicked having this way come and found a meal.

It surged forward all at once and then Narcissa was lost beneath the pressure of an ocean, a body compressed tightly to every centimetre of her skin, a body that wanted _in._

She was floating, she was crushed to bits, she was dashed against its shore and then borne aloft on silent wings. There was something inside of her now, against her, coiling around her waist and pulling her limbs until she’d been spread apart with all the care of someone preparing for a feast.

A tendril pressed against her lips, forced her jaw apart and flew down her throat until she began to gag. Uncontrolled spasms wracked her body as she fought for air that no longer existed, fought with every ounce of energy to oust the creature that was using her. It was a rather useless endeavour though, and before too long - _and before she could pass out from a lack of air_ \- the creature _breathed._ Air greeted her lungs even as it pressed against her eyes, pressed against her mind. Another tendril swirled by her legs, her knee and hips, invading her core with _need._ She stretched around the intrusion, burning heat taking over between her legs until Narcissa thought that she might burst.

It pumped into her, out, coiled and _tightened._ It continued, again and again, moving faster and faster with each pulsation until something finally _snapped._

Narcissa came, and it retreated. Seconds after achieving one of the most intense - _and shameful_ \- orgasms of her life, seconds after thinking she could _die_ from that _thing._ It was gone and she was alone, left to lay upon her bed and drip against the sheets.

\---

Hermione’s appearances became a regular occurrence after that night. No matter what Narcissa says to Bellatrix, no matter what protections she lays upon herself at night, no matter _what._

No matter what, Hermione _will_ be there when she falls asleep. The night takes over from the day and with it comes a foreboding sense of unease that eats away at Narcissa’s mind. 

The fourth night of Hermione’s visitation - _the fourth night of those same words before she is_ ** _used_ ** _-_ brought a change that Narcissa hadn’t quite been expecting. While the prior nights had been fueled with no small amount of terror - _and begrudgingly admitted lust_ \- this night is filled instead with something _else._

Resigned acceptance of the situation? Belligerence towards her inability to stave off the Fae? Neither, or perhaps a mixture of both. It would happen just as it had the nights before no matter what she did. No matter if she cowered in the corner of the room or within the study with its fireplace and magnificent sconces. It happened to her no matter how she pleaded with the Fae, and it always left her with a heady mixture of disgust and shame that grew loud within the confines of her chest.

This time the night was different. This time she would fight back, no matter how much of a token effort it would be.

Narcissa was ready when the light began to dim sometime around the witching hour. She watched with bated breath as the shadows began to elongate, Hermione’s form coalescing from the encroaching darkness. Narcissa breathed deep to settle her heart and slowly drew her wand from the holster strapped onto her arm.

Green lighting spit forth from her wand, splashing against the walls where darkness simply moved away. Purple bolts of magic scattered the shadows where it hit, swipes of silver cutting it away with brilliant efficiency.

A tendril of black reached up to meet her face, a grin within its open maw and inviting her, _goading_ her. It wanted her to fight, to crash down and then return the magic with its own. It wanted to rend her skin from bone. It wanted to _fight._

Or it only wanted to taunt her.

Narcissa withdrew to the back wall nearest the fireplace. It would likely be the last place that Hermione overcame, something about the heat and the light managing to push her back for only a little while. It was enough time for one last attack, and with all her might Narcissa unleashed the full force of her magic. The _Bombarda Maxima_ released from her wand-

It should have exploded. The explosion should have absolutely rocked the estate, if not blown it to bits.

That was _generally_ the problem with using a demolition spell indoors. It tended to demolish things.

Except that this spell didn’t. Instead, it seemed a thin tendril of darkness had sprinted forward to swallow the tip of Narcissa’s wand, the red energy she’d expended now hanging limply in one of Hermione’s uncountable maws.

 **_“Naughty, naughty. You’re quite feisty tonight, Little Witch.”_ ** the Fae crooned, a smile in its words and laughter now breathing down Narcissa’s neck.

Within the next second she was frantically drawn down to darkness, it swallowed her whole and subsumed her absolutely. When Narcissa could think again she noticed that she was floating within nothing and nowhere, her clothing shorn away from her body. Whatever ensconced her now was just as warm as she was, so light that it felt like nothing at all despite what she knew of Hermione.

 **_“I don’t enjoy being attacked,”_ ** the Fae continued, her words _inside_ of Narcissa’s mind. **_“You won’t do that again, will you? You’ve yet to give in. Has this proven it? You will join with us, won’t you? You’ll take my brand whether you like it. Isn’t that right, Little Witch?”_ **

Narcissa didn’t particularly like the edge of finality in Hermione’s voice. Nor did she care for the amusement that coloured its tone.

Something clenched hard against her abdomen, something that simultaneously slid across her skin and wrapped up against her wrists until she was pulled straight and _stretched._ Unlike the other nights, there was something more frantic in this movement. Something _needful._ It glided down from her stomach to her thighs, caressed her as if she were a lover and went further to pull at each ankle. Another tendril rose up to caress the hollow space beneath her ribcage, little things like mouths or suckers pulling at her skin, biting where they touched.

Narcissa screamed out into the void that was Hermione, screamed so hard that she could feel her throat begin to tear, her lungs give out from the madness of it all.

There was no sound.

Hermione dove into her with a ferocity that was unmatched by anything Narcissa had ever witnessed, Fae or human. Those mouths pushed upwards until the stiff buds atop her breasts were under assault, pulled and worried sore. It plucked at her, tasted her. Narcissa was certain she might die then and there, the building pleasure too much and not enough as Hermione toyed with her for who knew how long. She ceased fighting at her bonds but doubled over on herself as much as she could, the mounting pressure within the back of her mind overcoming any shame at being used in this way.

When she came the voice began to speak, to whisper and sing within her mind, _inside_ her heart. It was _her_ speaking, Narcissa’s own voice parroting Hermione’s words. She couldn’t stop it, wouldn’t stop it. She was whispering for release as Hermione brought her to the edge of another orgasm, pleading to be spared from this subjugation with as much force as she could muster, whispering for relaxation and a chance to show that she was worth something _alive_ rather than broken in her mind and body. She was screaming into Hermione and Hermione was screaming back, the both of them echoing one another as yet another orgasm passed through her, as she screamed in terror and maddened lust.

There was a rhythmic pulsing within her core that beat out _power_ into Narcissa’s mind, her body, a little itty bitty death so that she could live again. The pulse continued until it didn’t, until it quieted and receded. It was vicious in its assault before and tender as it fled, and Narcissa could imagine Hermione grinning at her with shark teeth and eagle eyes.

Hands were ghosting against her neck, tightening until she could barely keep from falling unconscious yet again. Twin pinpricks of blue, neon and blinding, were opening within her vision. True light, true eyes, distinct spheres that saw her and saw _through_ her. All the while Hermione continued speaking, continued whispering, continued to voice hidden thoughts and needs, urges and desires.

She could have this. She could own this, this pain and pleasant madness. She could hold onto this portion of something so much more magnificent than herself.

Something _snapped,_ something _broke._ Something shattered beyond repair, dashed itself beyond any hope of recognition.

Narcissa wavered.

\---

The offer ate away at Narcissa’s mind for three more nights and three more days before she finally broke. Hermione had refused to visit her within that time and all the phantom images of what she’d done - _of what she could do_ \- were plaguing Narcissa’s mind whenever she closed her eyes. 

Eventually, the possibility was just too much.

Some dark portion of the Fae had managed to infect her, invade her and grow past weary defences into a poisonous bloom.

She found Bellatrix deep within the Solarium, naked but for the blood splashed across her skin. She was on her hands and knees, a ritual brewing before her in the row of dirt where once she’d kept daisies and other pretty little things. There was a manic look to Bellatrix’s eyes, something that spoke to the monsters swirling within her abdomen.

“Where is she?” Narcissa asked, her tone strong and yet struck through with wanting, reaching out pitifully for a grasp of what she’d come to need.

Bellatrix turned to her and merely smiled in response.


	3. Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited

Every Goddess desires a willing acolyte, and  **_She_ ** will be a Goddess.

**_She_ ** needs all those who would otherwise find themselves trampled underfoot, all those who find their lives amended, changed, cast far and wide. **_She_ ** yearns for supplicants born of need, reaching up for her amid the darkness.

The lesser  _ \- and thus to  _ **_Her_ ** _ the greater _ \- Carrow is one of those few.

\---

Alecto has moved throughout the inner circle for years. Long has she served their Lord, suffered greatly for him, even. But now she finds herself freed to wander -  _ but for a moment, still and silent, swift and short _ \- and do as she pleases, and she seeks out those she knows above all others. She seeks out those who have suffered with her,  _ for _ her. She seeks out Bellatrix after she fails to respond to a missive, and is only  _ mildly _ perturbed by the sight of the woman who greets her upon that threshold.

Narcissa’s wearing a robe just barely drawn about her chest and waist, her hair a mess of gold. Her cheeks are flushed with ruddy warmth as she pants, unashamedly, in the direction where Alecto stands. A second of silence passes before Alecto shifts to peer around the youngest sister, and she manages to spy Bellatrix not far behind.

There is a second or two more of hesitation before they open the door and admit her entrance, and Alecto has to pause for a moment and wonder if she’s just caught a glimpse of the more  _ familiar _ side to Bellatrix and Narcissa. But the thought is brushed away with every footstep forward and soon enough she’s wrapped her long arms around Bellatrix. The woman is just as warm and put together as she ever has felt, and she does not spare Narcissa a single glance as she pulls Alecto down the hall. The home is deep and dark, the lights all barely flickering in their sconces, and as the door begins to shut behind them Alecto turns, quick, and catches one last glimpse of Narcissa.

Her shoulders are hitching though, and Alecto cannot tell if they roll from sobs or broken desire.

There’s no time to reflect on it. Instead she simply puts it off to Lucius’ continued stay in Azkaban. It’s easier for her this way, easier to ignore that she can  _ definitely _ smell the musky, heated remnants of someone rutting within these halls. She can smell it in the foyer, in the little study that Bellatrix drags her to, and she can smell it on the witch herself. It’s spices and heat, a burning ember on the tip of her tongue.

But she knows that Narcissa would  _ never _ be unfaithful, and Alecto’s faith in that is unwavering.

“Sit,” Bellatrix orders, leading her by the hand towards a run down sofa that’s seen better days. Her skin is warm and dry, the sharpened nails prickling into Alecto’s wrists in a way they’d done many, many times before. She knows this dance, and Bellatrix has always led it.

Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t just run off towards the hills.

Instead of disappearing in a huff of magic, Alecto sits and waits for Bellatrix to join her. There are a few words passed between them, but none of them manages to dredge from the witch just what she’s been working on, or why their Lord sees fit to leave her here, reprieved of all duty and responsibility. Bellatrix simply dives away from her questions, all her answers whispered in platitudes and half-truths that Alecto can sniff out only because she’s known the woman for so very long. She was there when Bellatrix told her first lie, and she figures that she’ll be there for the last. 

What she  _ can _ tell is that Bellatrix is near a manic state; her eyes are widened chips of obsidian, her tone a breathless whisper that carries on and on, and her lithe body is practically  _ humming _ with energy.

Alecto is confused but receptive. After all, she’s gone on and weathered greater storms than this. If she could survive the sundering of their Lord and his glorious rebirth, she can survive this. She can hold Bellatrix still, and safe, until the end of time.

But when she holds the woman to her breast, bodies pressed so closely they might as well be one soul in an overgrown cage of flesh, she can still  _ tell. _ There is something to Bellatrix, some cloying darkness, and it begins to eat at Alecto’s vision, leaves her gasping at just how fast time has managed to fly. Her eyes are dry now, her vision wavering, and then Bellatrix is ushering her off towards a table and a swift meal devoid of Narcissa’s vain comments. She only barely remembers whatever they conversed on by the time she’s swept up again, her plates tucked away wherever the Elves send them, and bodily hauled off to a room nearly two floors up.

Alecto sleeps, and then she dreams.

\---

_ She is dreaming of serpents intertwining, of a massive beast with so many fangs that they barely fit within its maw. She is witnessing a birth, the keening mewls of a thousand hungry mouths, and the lifeless gleam of pearlescent eyes. She’s not sure if this is real or imagined, a thing she picked up or unconsciously dragged along with her. She dreams of the creature and its endless infinities, yet she also dreams of the finite core of it; she sees a being with a concrete beginning but limitless endings. She dreams of soft fingers caressing her overheated core, two of them buried up to their knuckles and a mouth latched onto her breast. She dreams of Bellatrix attacking her with lips and tongue and wiles beyond measure, and she dreams of Narcissa floating beside them in the darkness, her body held high and statuesque as something else forces her movements. _

_ She dreams of something old and darkened, something wanting for company and fervent belief. _

_ She dreams of its eyes, and how deep they pierce. _

\---

When Alecto awakens there is a slickness between her thighs that cannot be wicked away by wishes and furious moaning. The heat of her dreams has invaded reality, and in its wake she finds that she cannot remember anything she had seen except a dark glare and  _ power. _

A power the likes of which she hasn’t seen or felt since their Lord had been in his prime, and she utters his epithets just to feel them on her lips. They carry power and importance, but the sounds are foreign to the last slumbering pieces of her, and she ceases before too long. His name cannot staunch the flow weeping from her slit and she reaches one hand down between her legs just as daintily as she can - _despite never being something_ ** _dainty,_** _never being something other than powerful and_ ** _strong_** \- to spread her folds and finish the job.

Fire licks her fingertips and she finds she cannot hold herself to decorum or a modest pace.

Her body is assuaged just as easily as ever though, and soon enough Alecto is up and wandering the estate. She takes in as much as she can on her travels from hall to hall; she only has so much time here and Alecto is determined to soak it all in.

\---

On the dawning of the third day _ \- after the second night of dreams, the second morning of waking up with her knickers soaked through and body burning, phantom hands upon her limbs and an eye peering into her soul _ \- there is an equilibrium within Alecto’s mind. Bellatrix wants her to practice spellwork, wants to run through the motions of killing one another. Who is Alecto to deny her friend that most base of all desires? They’ve both been plunderers before, the both of them have murdered hundreds together in this War and there will be many more bodies before the end. They are both sure of that fact and Alecto is prideful; she will be at her best no matter what, and if the damnable heat between her legs is at all soothed by this action, she’ll take it.

The burning rise is second nature now, the reaction a stinging curse that winds up her legs and past her core. The purple wreath follows the sloping of her hips and crosses over the flatness of her stomach, all familiar and all welcome.

Alecto has fallen low beneath Bellatrix’s wand, and she feels no fear at this. She’ll simply join Bellatrix again, and hope it’s not so painful this time around. She wants this release, and Narcissa’s slow eyes and parted lips only serve to egg her on.

The only interjection they receive is a soft mumble of words, a promise that they leave the gardens intact and all of Lucius’ pets alive.

Alecto can manage that.

\---

Their spells are zipping from their wands, flying with a strength and vigour that Alecto can hardly remember. Bellatrix is a whirl of flame and unchecked power, her body floating on the wind and unleashing damnation with her casting hand. Alecto soon finds herself hard-pressed to return the energy, to fight back in a way that is effectual and useful, and soon enough she finds she cannot do that no matter how hard she tries.

Bellatrix is insurmountable, just too good, and the sweat-licked skin of her arms and chest will not allow Alecto to continue. The burning of her muscles is too hard for her to fight against, and she slumps back down onto the ground as a pile of sodden limbs and bony gristle. Her core appears to have decided to fight as well; there is a heat within her cheeks that comes from lust more than exertion, and there is a slickness falling between her legs that sweat has no part of. She acknowledges that she’s always found Bellatrix attractive in some way and she’s given the woman more than a few kisses, here or there. Usually that only happened when she was so inebriated as to only half-remember it in the morning, too far gone to stop herself.

_ This _ sort of lust is odd to Alecto, and she finds that even if it feels different it also feels  _ right. _ It’s a good burn, and strong. It’s lubricating her insides and her mind, the cogs and different machinery all alighting with the strength of its urgency. It’s a distracting pull and so strong upon her psyche that Alecto can hardly stop herself when Bellatrix lends a hand to haul her back up.

Instead of letting herself be pulled up, Alecto pulls down. With a gasp she claims those red lips as her own, she claims the woman with clawing nails and sharpened teeth. She claims Bellatrix and finds -  _ with no small amount of shame _ \- that she is not the first to claim this woman. There are bites and bruises upon her friend that she  _ knows _ she did not leave, and the evidence is as sickly sweet as the smell of cum. 

Rodolphus hasn’t visited, but Bellatrix has a lover here. Alecto wonders again just how  _ sisterly _ the bond is between Bellatrix and Narcissa, and then promptly shoves it aside. It isn’t for her to judge another for their dalliances, and she’d be judged a hypocrite if she did. As if sensing her distress, Bellatrix leans in.

“It’s not that.”

The words manage to assuage something of Alecto’s wandering mind, and she knows right then and there that the fingers wandering her hair and scalp are only for her.

There is no further explanation or exploration, and the sudden feeling of vulnerability hits Alecto straight in the heart. It falls upon her like a crashing wave, cold and empty, and she shudders where she sits. In a second she’s on her feet with Bellatrix rolling off to the side, a faint voice as Alecto passes back indoors.

She refuses to show her face for dinner that night, perfectly happy to subsist on whatever the Elves bring for her. It is a simple platter of food and filling after such a long day, but it sits heavily within her belly as she picks apart her feelings and desires, the origins for each.

The emptiness between her legs begins to mock her, and she shudders as the cloying feel of untouched dew.

\---

_ Her dreams that night are pounding heavily against the thinnest veneer of sanity, her head and mind a licking fire that rolls down to her skin with winds and roaring screams. Her body rises higher and higher until there is nothing that she cannot see, and nothing left to  _ **_see._ ** _ There is only her formless energy and a pair of wicked eyes that gleam with purple fire, a ring of gold deep within their centre. She is nothing beneath the cleansing heat of that gaze, she is emptied before it and filled with desire, with purpose. She is to be used and use in turn. She can desire what she wants, she can desire what she needs. That is the commandment rolling across the tenuous fabric of the remainder of her mind. _

_ That night she dreams of black curls that are clenched tightly between her fingers, she dreams of a pale face hauled down to nip and suck, of preening cries that escape all categorization. She dreams of  _ **_completion._ **

_ She dreams, and when she wakes it’s all that she remembers. _

\---

Bellatrix isn’t exactly prepared when Alecto finds her the next morning.

Not that Alecto can blame the woman for being so befuddled. It’s hours still before the sun rises across the horizon, and she’s naked. She’s dripping from the slit between her legs and her mind is so far gone that it might have never been there. She is all instinct, all desire, a willing vassal for the creature that Bellatrix has taken into her bed, into her heart.

Alecto has let that  _ thing _ into her mind, and now she can see the evidence of what it had once hidden.

_ There’s a brood far upstairs in a room above her own, a room that never existed, and in it lay  _ **_things_ ** _ that carry Bellatrix’s likeness in their tenacity to escape and rend the world asunder. _

Alecto knows that she shouldn’t know that, but she does.

She knows it just as she knows that Narcissa is being tormented every night; the blonde is losing her body, falling prey beneath and uncaring _ \- or perhaps it cares too much _ \- Goddess. Alecto herself has been subjected to this new Goddess’s will, and she finds she cannot deny it.

There is no need to, not now that Bellatrix is staring at her with curious eyes and a body so easily manoeuvred within the massive bed.

Alecto holds her down forcefully by the wrists and then her knees, her shins, her weight keeping Bellatrix’s arms pinned down as she forces the woman beneath her to pray at her apex. Bellatrix is quickly brought back from confusion when presented with the sweetness of Alecto’s prize, and her tongue dips forward in just the  _ right _ way.

Alecto just about screams at that, her body has been so pent up with  _ need. _ She wants this release, and she finds that Bellatrix just wants to be used, to drag this out. She’s so very different from the Bellatrix that Alecto remembers, but she feels this may be the truest the witch has ever been with her.

This interminable rut will not go slowly, no, not at all.

She moves to smother the woman beneath her, forces Bellatrix into grinding harshly against her sex. Alecto exhales into the sound of squirming bodies and sweltering heat, forces herself to push up and then pull back. The rhythm she forms is harsh and unforgiving, and if Bellatrix needs air then she does not bother Alecto about it. She can have her air when Alecto has finally finished, and not before.

Alecto does, soon enough, for Bellatrix is an easy study and understands that living to fuck again is much more preferable to dying between strong thighs.

Alecto falls backwards and atop of Bellatrix’s body, the woman underneath of her only shifting slightly as she pants into the air. Alecto forces her breathing to steady, as much as she can, as the feeling of heat and fire licks up between her thighs once more. It is a burn beneath her skin, an itch she cannot scratch. She cannot find respite despite earlier completion, and she rubs at herself with eager fingers that pull back all sopping wet. Bellatrix is below her in an instant with sharp nails all too eager to find their way to Alecto’s core.

Ordinarily, Alecto would be perturbed by this sudden unbecoming. She would be put off by the sharpness of Bellatrix’s nails. Instead, she merely grinds down once more in hopes for her clit to be scraped raw, for all the release to be pushed out through blinding pain.

It’s intensely unusual, what’s happening to her. But she’ll take what she can get. The  _ thing _ watching them from the corner of the room is smiling in anticipation of blood and sacrifice, and if Alecto finds she can offer a little death, she will.


End file.
